Jill Noelle - The Dark Count (Ellora's Cave)

by james

  His sister looked up from her breakfast and smiled. “I thought you might.”

  Vincent slid into a chair. His stomach rumbled as the smell of sausage and gravy tickled his nostrils, but he ignored it. He had more pressing matters to address this morning; there’d be plenty of time to eat after he’d managed to resolve the issue of his future.

  “Well?” Marie raised her brow. “What is it?”

  “I have a plan, but I’ll need your assistance. You must get Bridgett outside.”

  “Oh, Vincent, I’m not sure that’s possible,” Marie told him. “She insists she’s unwell, and perhaps she is. Depression must be just as painful as many other ailments.”

  “Marie, you have to get her outside. Today.” Vincent insisted. “Don’t take no for an answer. Lie, if you have to. She loves you, and will do anything for you. Tell her that beau of yours is sick and you need her help nursing him back to health.”

  “You want me to lie? Vincent, I don’t know.”

  “Trust me on this, Marie. I know what I’m doing.”

  His sister studied him for a moment, then slowly nodded. “Yes, I believe you finally do.”

  * * * * *

  Bridgett sat in a chair next to the window, staring out across the sea. The baby moved, sticking one of its tiny limbs between her ribs, and Bridgett shifted, but the pressure did not lessen. With a sigh, she stood up.

  The walls were beginning to close in on her, and a growing agitation filled her soul. She found no peace, despite having made a decision to leave once the babe was born. It was as if life had no meaning, beyond the day-to-day activities that she performed by rote.

  Each day, she rose from her bed, bathed, dressed and ate a few bites of breakfast. Marie would visit, bringing books or other objects of interest, chatting like a magpie about this and that. Bridgett tolerated her presence, pretended an interest, but it was all a lie. She felt dead inside. Alive, but not living.

  And yet, her conscience plagued her. Especially these last few days, when her baby seemed to sense her despair and echo her restlessness. If only for Alex, she should make more of an effort. How healthy could it be for an unborn child to grow within a woman who spent her days deep in a black hole of despair?

  “Bridgett, I need your help.”

  Marie barged in, her expression grim.

  “What is it?” Concern for her friend brought Bridgett out of her self-centered musings.

  “It’s Christopher. He was thrown from his horse.”

  “Oh, my! Is he all right? He’s not…” Bridgett couldn’t bring herself to finish the thought.

  “No, no. Nothing like that. But I’m afraid he may have broken a leg,” Marie said. She seemed highly agitated, wringing her hands in a way very unlike her usually calm, take-charge manner. “The doctor is there now. Will you come with me? For moral support?”

  Bridgett didn’t hesitate. “Of course. Just let me grab a cloak.”

  Minutes later, they made their way across the courtyard.

  “We’ll take the trap,” Marie told her as they approached the stables.

  Bridgett stopped in her tracks. “Marie, would you mind if I wait out here? I really don’t… I don’t think I can go in there right now.”

  “Of course. I’ll be right back.”

  Bridgett wrapped her arms about her waist, stamping her feet to keep them warm, as she waited for Marie. Despite the cold, the sky was a brilliant blue and the air fresh with the bite of the promise of snow. She raised her face to the sun, closing her eyes and breathing deeply.

  Behind her, a horse nickered softly. She turned, shielding her eyes against the sun’s glare. Squinting, she could barely make out the profile of a rider approaching from the road. She frowned, certain the light played tricks on her. It looked like… Shaking her head at such a fanciful notion, she blinked to clear her vision. The horse and rider entered the courtyard, just as the sun slipped behind a cloud. Bridgett gasped, and her heart swelled as tears filled her eyes. She let them flow, unchecked, as her Count drew closer, the light glancing off his armor.

  He pulled Tempest to a halt a few feet away and dismounted, the chain mail covering his broad chest tinkling like chimes in the breeze.

  Bridgett’s opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t force any words past the lump in her throat. She waited, breathless, as he approached her, then sobbed in earnest when he dropped to one knee.

  Pulling off his helmet, he placed it on the ground near her feet, then reached for her hand.

  “My Lady,” he said, gazing up at her, his expression solemn. “I know I’m unworthy. I know I have failed in my duties to protect you and cherish you in the manner you deserve.”

  He glanced away, and Bridgett watched in amazement as a single tear slid down his cheek. She started to speak, meaning to deny his claims and ease his distress, but he squeezed her hand.

  “No. Let me finish. I’ve been remiss, My Lady, and I’m only half a man. But I’m hopeful, if you’ll do me the honor of becoming my wife, I can become whole.”

  Bridgett gazed into his eyes, seeing the truth, and her heart burst with joy.

  “Please rise, gallant knight, and kiss me,” she whispered, “to seal the oath. I accept your pledge.”

  Her Count stood, then bent to place a chaste kiss on her cheek.

  “What kind of a way is that to kiss your future wife?” Marie asked, stepping from the stables. “Pull her in your arms and kiss her properly, Vincent, then take her upstairs and truly seal the deal like only a real man can.”

  Bridgett’s mouth dropped open, but then she giggled. “Yes, Milord. What are you waiting for?”

  Vincent grinned, scooping her into his arms. “I thought you’d never ask. You have one more lesson, beloved, before you’ll make me an adequate wife.”

  * * * * *

  “Milord?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “We don’t… I mean, if you’re not comfortable…” Bridgett had trouble putting together a coherent thought.

  Her Count lifted his head from her breast. “Bridgett?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Shut up.” He lowered his head again, drawing her nipple between his teeth and biting it gently. He drew the tightened bud into his mouth, sucking it deeply.

  Bridgett squirmed beneath him, unable to hold still against the swiftly rising fire of her desire.

  He shifted his attention lower, trailing his tongue along her swollen abdomen, then lower still, until he reached the juncture of her thighs. They drifted apart of their own accord, and she gasped at the first touch of his tongue on her swollen clitoris.

  “Milord!” She reached out blindly, entwining her fingers in his hair.

  Vincent stopped and raised his head, “Yes, my love?”

  Bridgett smiled at his teasing expression. Raising a brow, she whispered, “don’t stop.”

  With a low moan, Vincent lowered his head, plunging his tongue into her fiery heat, lapping at her sweetness. Bridgett draped her legs over his shoulders. Rolling her hips, she met each thrust of his tongue.

  He teased her mercilessly, varying his technique, never using the same rhythm for more than a few seconds, until she thought she might die.

  “Please,” she finally whispered, tugging at his shoulders, “please, milord, I can not.”

  He raised his head, his smoky-gray eyes warm with passion, his lips wet from her juices. “My name is Vincent. If I’m going to make love to you for the rest of your life, I believe you can use my Christian name.”

  “Vincent,” she murmured, “my knight. Please stop this endless torment.”

  He shifted, raising up on his knees and lifting her legs to rest on his shoulders. Bridgett watched him through lowered lashes, feeling vulnerable, but incredibly loved.

  “Open your eyes,” he said, as he took his cock in his fist and guided himself within her, sinking deep.

  Her eyes flew open and she caught her breath.

  “I want to watch you,” he told her, setting up a
gentle rhythm that had her head spinning. “I want to look in your eyes, and watch you come.”

  His words made her hotter, and she clutched at his shoulders. Vincent cupped her buttocks, lifting her hard against him, holding her close.

  Bridgett bit her lip as the tension built, growing more intense, more frightening, with each languid stroke.

  “Milord…Vincent!” she cried out. Their gazes locked, she stared into his eyes. “Oh, God. I can’t…”

  “It’s okay,” he whispered, “I’m here. Hold me.”

  He reached between them to massage her clitoris and she whimpered, unable to draw a complete breath.

  He drove her, higher and higher, and she bucked her hips, seeking something so profound, so incredible, she could only guess at how it might end.

  The tightly wound spring within her suddenly snapped and she cried out, but did not look away from his smoldering gaze. Wave after wave of luscious feelings swept through her, and her vaginal muscles spasmed, gripping him tight.

  “My God,” he growled, grinding his hips against her as she found her release, following her over the precipice, just moments behind. “I never knew.”

  He collapsed atop her, burying his face in her neck, their bodies slick with sweat. A moment later, he jerked back, rolling to his side. “I’m sorry. The baby. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  Bridgett rolled onto her side, cupping his face in her hands. “No, my love, you didn’t hurt the baby, but you damn near killed me.”

  He smiled. “One doesn’t die of the things you experienced, bella mia.”

  “Though sometimes, you wished it were so,” she finished for him. “What didn’t you know?”

  His smile grew soft and he ran his finger over her bottom lip in a gentle caress. “I never knew that giving pleasure could be so…rewarding.”

  “Milord,” she said, “a wise man once told me, it depends on one’s reason for giving.” She smiled at his surprised expression. “Does it not?”

  He pulled her close, resting his chin on her head. “Yes, fair Bridgett. A lesson well-learned.”

  THE END